


walrus ranger solutions

by fourhorsemen



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Office Fusion, M/M, No Beta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-23 22:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30062187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourhorsemen/pseuds/fourhorsemen
Summary: “Don’t you just hate that bloody logo?” Rackham mutters.The camera pans to the fat walrus on the wall, an arrow just peeking up behind it, with Walrus Ranger Solutions printed in stocky letters beneath.“Arsehole covered half our logo in the merger,” Rackham whines.Next to him, Anne rolls her eyes and thwacks him upside the head.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Did I start a show 7 years late then start self-indulgently writing fanfiction for a dead fandom? Yes. ~~At least I'm writing at all~~
> 
> No beta, we die fearlessly like Charles Vane or we don't die at all
> 
> Rated T for swearing, just to be safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Legend of Long John Silver

“Silver? Silver’s the nicest guy in the office,” Logan says absently, then turns right back to ogling Charlotte the receptionist.

* * *

“Silver is HILARIOUS! He gives ‘dis Lunch Time Address where he lays out all the office gossip and it is my favorite part of de day!” Joshua says cheerfully, then calls Palmer a goatfucker, who growls as he walks past.

* * *

“Silver? Ay well he’s adorable innhe? He takes such good care of Randall, it en even ‘is job to handle the special hires,” Dooley mumbles, absently chewing on his pencil as he stares at a spreadsheet.

* * *

“I made a joke once… that we was married, and… He... He laughed,” Muldoon says shyly, with a shining, faraway gaze.

* * *

“He’s acceptable,” Dufresne mutters, then scowls, “shove off! Some of us have to work!”

* * *

“Seeing as he’s the only one of Flint’s assistant's who has lasted this long, I’d say there’s something special about him. He works hard, has a lot of pride,” Howell says calmly, then tunes back into his phone call.

* * *

“We loike ‘im,” Randall enunciates slowly, staring directly into the camera all the while.

* * *

“Silver… He has a cool head about him. Gets along with everyone…,” Billy says quickly, looking a little discomfited to be on video.

“Well, almost everyone,” Billy adds flippantly, then his eyes widen as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Well… I really shouldn’t...” Billy hems and haws and then when the camera zooms in on his face, he finally caves.

“He and Flint? They don’t get along. Hell, they really get into it in Flint’s office sometimes. Swearing, crashing, shit flung about. Silver always comes out fuming red,” Billy mutters quickly, glancing about to see if he’s being overhead.

“Sometimes… Sometimes I go in after to check on Flint, see if Silver hasn’t stabbed him with a pencil,” Billy whispers then jolts when Dufresne makes a stern yell for him to get back to his desk.

* * *

“Silver?” Flint asks calmly. Seconds tick past, and the man glares stoically into the camera. No more is said. He adjusts his tie and turns back to his screen. The camera slowly edges out of the room.

* * *

“Me? Oh well,” Silver laughs, “I’m just a regular lad. Regular lad with half a leg chomped off by a shark but regular nonetheless,” he says jokingly, swinging his prosthetic leg back and forth.

“Was it really a shark? Well, I guess you’ll never know,” Silver whispers conspiratorially.

* * *

“Flint…? He’s a fucking bastard,” Vane growls, eyes flashing, then is dragged down the hall to the office across by a blonde woman who narrowly escapes being caught on camera.

* * *

“Flint?” Silver stiffens and his affable smile falters, “well what about him?”

“He’s my boss,” he says noncommittally then frowns when the camera nudges closer.

“No comment,” he mutters and then walks away quickly to his desk.


	2. the spanish account

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Treasure of the Urca de Lima

The employees of Walrus Ranger Solutions, for once, sit silently at their desks.

“What the FUCK do you mean, you lost the Spanish account?”

Billy types furiously, eyes flicking nervously to the blinds to Flint’s closed office, which rattle ominously.

“I didn’t _lose_ the Spanish account-” the rest of the shout is lost behind a wooden door.

Morley awkwardly clears his throat, and silently tells Randall to “turn it off and on again” as the elder man frowns at his frozen computer screen.

There is a loud thump.

DeGroot jolts and gets up nervously, then power-walks to the water cooler in the corner where he lingers, ears peeled.

“Nick and Vince never fucking gave it to me!”

“Doesn’t matter- … (muffled) -- was _YOUR_ responsibility”

“My responsibility! _Mine_?”

And on it goes.

The camera moves closer and closer, until the lens is positioned just right for a peek into the office of James McGraw-Flint, Regional Manager of the Nassau branch of Walrus Ranger Solutions, through a sliver in the blinds.

Inside, Silver and Flint gesture wildly, positively screaming at each other. Silver leans against the desk, mouth agape and eyes blazing. He crosses his arms and mutters something that makes Flint go red in the face and point to the door.

The camera gives a panicked shake as it backs away from the blinds. A minute later, Silver comes storming out and goes directly to the rec room.

The room breathes a collective sigh of relief.

“ _Blimey_! Was a bad one alright,” Dooley says with eyebrows raised pointedly.

He waggles them in the direction of Flint’s office, who’s closing his door with a glare that shuts Dooley up immediately.

He closes the door to his office with a loud, perfunctory slam.

* * *

Silver pouts at the camera, and yanks his fingers through the curly strands of his hair in frustration.

“He assigns it to the two most useless tossers in the entire office. Foists it off his hands and declares me their supervisor!” he grumbles.

His fingers snag on a knot in his hair and he huffs out a loud, angry breath.

“The Regional Director is the one who’s supposed to be in charge of the Spanish account, not his _assistant_ ,” he hisses.

* * *

“I could fire him, you know. I had plenty of other applications for secretary,” Flint mutters in a blasé tone.

His face is as nonchalant as ever, as he trains his eyes on his computer screen. He makes no move to pick up his mouse, or even type something on his computer to provide the illusion of work.

He simply stares into the screen as if it holds a hidden treasure.

* * *

“He called me his _what?_ ” Silver shouts, slamming his hands on his desk.

“Heeeere we go,” Dufresne sighs, and rolls his eyes.

“A SECRETARY?”

Wide, furious blue eyes hone in on that closed office door like a laser.

“I’ll show him secretary -”

“Silver, stop. You know he only says it when you’re in a tiff,” Billy says gently.

“A _secretary?”_ Silver sputters again, but slumps back into his chair, heeding Billy’s point.

Billy makes a relieved sound and pats Silver consolingly on the shoulder.

Silver pouts and continues to glare a hole into Flint’s office door.

* * *

“Yes, that. Hm, I said that,” Flint says flippantly with a wave of his hand.

“I’m not your bloody secretary-” Silver snarls.

(It’s a wonder they don’t notice the camera in the room, truly).

“Look, what’s the difference, this isn’t even the point I was-” Flint starts to say.

Silver interrupts him immediately.

“What’s the _difference_? It’s degrading!”

“Oh, come off it,” Flint scoffs.

“Do you see me standing here in a PENCIL skirt,” Silver exclaims and throws his hands out in exasperation.

“A pencil skir-,” Flint splutters, and his pale skin flushes pink.

For a second his eyes flash over his assistant head to toe, the camera zooms into Flint’s expression until the man suddenly notices its presence.

“The hell are you doing in here? Get out!” he barks.

The camera hastily retreats, but not before catching the wide-eyed look Silver has, and the way he immediately rallies back on with his point (“an assistant, I’m your _assistant_ ,”) to deflect from the _moment_ just caught on camera.

* * *

“The Spanish Account? Silver said to ‘take care of it’ I thought he meant shred it,” Vince says sharply, eyes widening.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Nicholas says in horror.

They stew in their stupidity, sat side by side in the rec room. Even the vending machine seems to judge them.

“I think it's still in the shredder. Maybe we can stick it back together?” Nicholas offers weakly.

“Stick it back together. No of course we can’t stick it back together, you _plonker_ ,” Vince guffaws, then slaps him up the back of his head.

* * *

“God, I hate my life,” Silver sighs.

He miserably gets back to taping together the remnants of the Urca de Lima Account. A throat clears behind them and the camera turns to catch Flint, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Need any help?” Flint asks hesitantly.

Silver glares at him. Then, he looks at the mess of shredded paper on his table and smirks.

“Your funeral, boss,” he says with a wide grin.

Flint reaches the table and takes a seat. Right as this happens, Silver gets up, dusts paper shreds off his pants and then makes to walk away.

“Hold on! Where are you going?” Flint sputters.

“You offered to help, so help,” Silver says sweetly.

The camera trails Silver as he strides out the door, then immediately spins to catch Flint’s gobsmacked expression.

“Damn it all to hell, this is why I don’t do ‘ _nice’_ ,” he mutters.

He gingerly picks up a string of shredded paper.

The camera zooms in on the clock as it ticks it’s merry way past 7 pm.

“Clever little…” Flint whispers fondly, then gets to taping.


End file.
